Who Ya Gonna Owl?
by Camwyn
Summary: It's the summer after OotP, and the new magical government faces an unexpected challenge: England is being swarmed by ghosts, spooks, and spirits! Even the Spirit Division can't handle it- but Arthur Weasley knows four Americans who can- the Ghostbusters.
1. Something Strange In The Neighbourhood

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

Amelia Bones massaged her temples, not wanting to open her eyes. Being Cornelius Fudge's successor to the position of Minister of Magic was _not _all it was cracked up to be. Why the man had fought so hard to hold onto the job she didn't know; frankly, if it were up to her she'd be on a beach in Tahiti right now-

"Madam Minister?"

Unwillingly, she dropped her hands and looked up. Aloyisius Nacknouck was watching her with a worried expression. The little man was head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' Spirit Division. She'd seen his signature far too many times of late; half the reports on her desk right now came from his quill.

"Yes, Aloyisius," she said tiredly. "I've read the latest."

"I'm sorry, Madam Minister- it's just-"

"Yes, yes, too much for an already overworked department... I know, Aloyisius. I know. Believe me, I'm not blaming you _or _your Division. Britain's never _had _this magnitude of a ghost problem before."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but _Transylvania's _never had this magnitude of a problem before." The slender stick in the corner of his mouth shivered up and down. It took Amelia a moment to remember that Aloyisius (like quite a lot of his Spirit Speakers) had taken to patronizing Muggle coffee-sellers, and had developed a bad habit of chewing on the stir-sticks the places offered. Well, there were worse vices. "You-Know-Who's behind it- he's got to be. This isn't _natural, _this many wizards coming back as ghosts. Nobody's got this much unfinished business."

"I know." Amelia made a half-hearted effort at straightening up the latest pile of reports. "And even when they do, the degree of hostility they come back with isn't _nearly _as bad as this lot-"

"Not to mention the _other _things. Poltergeists. _Genii loci. _Grims and haunts and apparitions everywhere you turn! Hawkswell and Struble had to call in the Obliviators yesterday and do half of Arsenal just to keep things quiet- we're not talking about wizards being haunted here, ma'am, we're talking Muggles!"

Amelia's heart sank, but she valiantly kept her expression calm. "How many?"

"Half of Arsenal- that's a football team," Nacknouck added, seeing the blank incomprehension on the Minister's face. "It was just a practice session, and lucky for us, too- but that's just the beginning. I've sent the Zoll twins off to Wales, there's an _entire Muggle village _being terrorized by the Mari Llwyd-"

"Not a thestral that looks like...?"

"No." Nacknouck's face was grim. "Parvathi Tiruviluamala confirmed it. It's the real thing."

"Merlin's beard."

"You can say that again. It's only getting worse, Minister. My Division's doing everything in our power to put down the worst of it and send the ghosts along to wherever they're supposed to be- but even if it holds steady at this rate we can't do it all. We need _help."_

Amelia nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose between her index fingers. "It seems we don't have a choice," she said. "Call for Arthur Weasley, would you?"

Nacknouck started, but complied. Then he said, "Er- _Weasley? _Isn't he in-"

"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, yes, send for him anyway." Her mouth twitched; she felt too tired to smile. "Believe me, Aloyisius, I've been reading everything you've brought me. I expected you'd be needing help early on. I just didn't think it would come to that point so quickly."

He nodded, taking a seat. "All right, but- why Weasley, if I might ask?"

The Minister of Magic steepled her fingers. "Europe's Spirit Speakers tend to be specialised in local ghosts and apparitions," she said. "There's a fellow in Finland does a bang-up job of expelling spirits from cursed artifacts- it's a real problem up there, apparently- but ask him to deal with something haunting a _place _and he's useless. The Italian _strege _are lovely at appeasing ghosts and relocating them, but they've got powerful cultural taboos against destroying certain kinds of spirits- the ones causing your Spirit Speakers the most trouble, naturally. And so on, and so forth. We could, theoretically, tap every country in Europe for aid and be covered- but the likelihood of getting all of them to cooperate is amazingly low. Not to mention that they've got their _own _problems."

"Yes, I suppose," said Nacknouck, "but you still haven't said why Weasley."

There was a rap at the Minister's door. Amelia smiled. "You'll see," she said, then raised her voice. "Come in, Arthur..."

The smile on the tall, thin wizard's face was not particularly convincing. Arthur Weasley, for all his jolly demeanor, was clearly worried- both of them could see that straightaway. "I came as soon as your message arrived, Minister," he said, hastily straightening one of his sleeves and trying ineffectually to smooth down his thinning red hair. "May I ask what this is about? Not that incident in the British Museum, I hope."

Amelia nodded to the chair opposite Nacknouck. "Sit down, please, Arthur- oh, _do _stop looking like you're expecting to be bitten. This isn't a reprimand."

"It's not?- I mean, oh! Of course, of course it's not..." Weasley settled himself into the chair hastily. "It's only-"

"Everyone is on edge these days, Arthur," said Amelia with what she hoped was a reassuring voice. "And small wonder, with everything that's been happening. No, this isn't about the Museum, and it's not about anything else to do with your office, either. As far as I'm concerned the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office has taken the transition from my predecessor's government better than the majority of the Ministry- along with the Spirit Division," she added, nodding towards Nacknouck.

Weasley blinked, glancing in the other wizard's direction. Apparently, he hadn't seen him before. Nacknouck nonetheless smiled politely and gave a smallish wave. "Spirit Division," murmured Weasley, turning back to the Minister's desk.

"That's right."

"Then this is about-"

"The increased incidence of ghost, poltergeist, and other spirit activity across Britain over the past month, yes."

Weasley looked to Nacknouck again, and then sat up very straight. "What could the Spirit Division possibly need from _my _office?" he asked. There was a peculiar little smile on his face, matched almost exactly by the one on Amelia's; he looked, thought Nacknouck, like a child in on a grown-up's jokes for the first time.

"Four names, Arthur," said the Minister.

"All four? You're sure? They don't take well to suggestions of being separated, I told you that already-"

"All four, yes. Even if two of them _are, _technically, Muggles."

Nacknouck, who had been looking back and forth between the two, put up a finger. "Er- _technically _Muggles? What, like Squibs?"

"No, Aloyisius," said Amelia with another smile. "Muggles. Arthur, here, met a number of gentlemen from America some years ago- a unique partnership of wizards and extraordinarily persistent Muggles who have, somehow, managed to gain the endorsement of the American Department of Magic." Weasley was beaming like a cat in a creamery. "He suggested that the Ministry contact them quite some time ago, but the idea was- rejected- at lower levels. A fact for which I am _extremely _sorry, by the by."

Weasley waved one hand as if to say 'don't mention it'. "I'm just glad you were willing to take my letter when I handed it to you personally."

Amelia nodded, and looked back to Nacknouck. "The long and the short of it is this: your Division can throw themselves at this problem until their hearts burst, and it won't do anyone any good. You need help, without pausing to bicker with Spain and Bulgaria and San Marino and all the rest. We cannot afford to be fussy any more, Aloyisius..."

"Arthur? You have official Ministry of Magic authorization to send for the Ghostbusters. Immediately."


	2. Ghostbusters, whaddya want?

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

It was a bright, warm, sunny day in New York City. The sun was shining, the traffic snarling, and there wasn't an active spirit, spook or ghost anywhere on the island of Manhattan. At least, if there was, no one had phoned the firehouse at the corner of Varick and North Moore about it. Which explained, perhaps, why Peter Venkman was able to lug himself down the stairs into the kitchen, mumble, "G'morning," and get a curtly snapped, "Afternoon" from Egon by way of reply.

"Is it?" He squinted at the clock on the microwave. "Huh. Sure feels like morning."

"It was morning when you got in, too."

"Pssh. It's not morning until the sun's up."

"Which it almost was. Where _were _you last night, anyway?"

"Long, boring story. You wouldn't be interested." He yawned again; Egon muttered something, shook his head, and ducked out of the kitchen. The slow weeks, as far as he was concerned, were research weeks. How Peter could waste them so casually, he'd never know. _He _had three different experiments in various stages of progress laid out in the lab, and there was a copy of Semiconductor Spintronics and Quantum Entanglement waiting-

"RAY!" came Peter's yell from upstairs. "Why's the kitchen all weird?"

Ray poked his head out of the small room next to the lab; reorganizing his research library was his pet project for the month. "I finally got your mess cleaned up, that's why!" he answered, equally loudly. He glanced down the hall and winced apologetically. "Sorry, Egon."

Egon waved a hand in a vague it's-all-right gesture; upstairs there was silence for a moment, followed by, "Oh."

Ray shook his head. "He just got up, I'm guessing?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Have you seen my-"

"RAY! I can't find the bread!"

With a sigh, Ray called back, "In the breadbox!"

"Which is where?"

"Under the cabinet next to the microwave!"

"Oh."

"Remind me to see about rigging him up with an IV caffeine infusion," Egon murmured. "That ought to-"

"RAY! I can't find the mayo!"

"It's in the fridge, where it belongs! You left it in the pantry!"

"Oh."

Ray shook his head. "Never mind the caffeine. What _he _needs is a good stiff dose of synthetic amphetamines. Too bad they're illegal."

Egon smiled faintly. "No argument here-"

"RAY!"

"I'm _busy, _Peter!" Ray snapped back. "Find it yourself!"

There was a moment's quiet.

"EGON!"

"Sorry, buddy," said Ray sympathetically as he turned back into the library. "This one's all yours."

Egon snorted and went to the stairs. "WHAT?"

"We've got an owl! What do you want me to do with it?"

There was a muffled clatter and a sudden 'ow!' from behind him, as of a man whose head has collided with the bottom of a bookshelf. "Uh... what sort of owl?" Egon asked warily.

"What do you mean, what sort of owl? An _owl _owl!"

"Peter, you're going to have to be more specific-"

"Hang on a second, I think it's gonna land. It's got something in its claws..."

Egon spared a quick glance over his shoulder; Ray had scrabbled to his feet and was leaning out of the library again. "Peter?"

There was no answer, only the sound of feet on the stairs. Moments later Peter appeared, scowling and wiping ineffectually at the blood rolling down his forehead from gashes raked at the edge of his scalp. "One of you has a letter," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and up the stairs. "In the kitchen."

Leaving Peter with the lab's first aid kit, Egon and Ray headed up the stairs. "I doubt it's for me," Egon said dryly.

"Why? You know more people in Europe than I do."

"And I'm _persona non grata _in more wizarding jurisdictions than you are. I very much doubt there's anyone in the world willing to communicate with me who still uses owl post, Ray."

"Oh, come on. You can't have alienated _everyone."_

"Wizard culture in Europe is a lot less forgiving than it is in the States. There were a couple of teachers at Durmstrang who wanted me burned at the stake."

"That's pretty impressive. How'd you manage that?"

"They didn't appreciate the idea that a solid grasp of arithmantic number theory and magical principles could be used to strip the traditional wizardly trappings and pseudoscientific influences from everything they did and turn magic into something properly systematically testable. Said the very existence of the idea was a violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, never mind the fact that it still didn't work for people without properly expressed mana-manipulating genetic markers."

"That doesn't sound like grounds for burning at the stake to _me."_

"It had more to do with the presentation," Egon conceded. "I got a pretty hostile reception and a poor grade when I turned that essay in. Calling the instructor a walking anachronism who'd left both his frontal lobes in the care of the Sorcerer of Trois Freres Cave may not have been the most diplomatic way of handling the appeal."

"Ouch."

"Well, it was true."

At first glance the kitchen seemed just the same as always. It took a moment to spot the telltales: the open window here, the half-made sandwich there. And, of course, the staring contest at the table, between a wary-looking Winston and a bedraggled tawny owl with an envelope clutched in its talons. "Don't make any sudden moves," Winston said as the kitchen door opened. His eyes didn't leave the owl's for a second. "One of you just ease over and close the window-"

"It's all right, Winston," said Egon. The owl's head suddenly swiveled in his direction. "He didn't steal it, he's delivering it." He held out a forearm, fist clenched; the bird hooted and leapt up from the table, dropping the envelope into Egon's other hand. It wrapped its claws around his arm and settled to preening its feathers with an affronted air. "Ray? Would you mind opening this while I see to our friend here?"

Winston shook his head, settling back into his chair. "Who keeps _owls _in New York City? I mean, pigeons, yeah, but owls?"

"He's not from New York," said Ray absently. He'd sat down in one of the other chairs and was skimming over the bird's letter rapidly, a small pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. "This species is native to Great Britain and Ireland. The letter's from England, dated yesterday. He must've come down the Floo Network through Canada. There's no way a bird his size could make it to Manhattan that fast on his own."

The owl hooted, hopping up and down briefly on Egon's shoulder. "Sounds affirmative to me," the man said, his voice muffled; he was rooting through the back of the freezer. "Did you get rid of that Baggie full of mice when you defrosted last, Ray?"

"No, but I vacuum-sealed them and wrapped the packet in foil. They're behind the durian ice cream."

"Whose idea was that, anyway?"

"Janine's, I think." Ray turned his attention back to the letter. "Says here-"

"Uh- question." Winston held up one hand. "What's a Floo Network?"

Egon popped the microwave open. Over his shoulder he said, "A network of supernaturally connected fires, both active and dormant, stretching across most of the Commonwealth countries and into parts of the United States. Extremely inefficient as a means of transport, since it depends on-"

"Uh- Egon-" Ray set the letter down, turning all of his attention to Winston, who looked as if he didn't know whether to believe Egon or not. "Winston hasn't been briefed on that, remember?"

"Oh. Right." There was a quiet _ding! _from the microwave. "Well-"

"Tell you what," said Peter, who had successfully bandaged his scalp wounds and returned to the kitchen. "Why don't _I _tell him-"

Egon straightened up immediately, his back to the microwave oven.

"-and you promise me you'll never, ever, _ever _heat up dead mice in the same microwave I use for my lunch again."

"I'm not heating up dead mi - _ow!" _

"Yeah? Then why's the owl biting your ear off?"

". . . jet lag?" Egon winced, and tried to push the owl aside with one hand. It bit him again. "Ow."

Peter shook his head and pulled out one of the chairs. "Egon, you're a brilliant scientist, but you're a terrible liar," he said as he straddled the chair back-to-front. "Winston, it's like this. Ray and Egon here have a long and glorious history of not putting stuff on their CV's. Number one item on the list is that they are, in fact, wizards."

"No offense, Peter, but I kind of figured that out for myself that time we went to New Orleans."

"Yeah, well, there's more. What they _haven't _told you is that there's a _lot _of other wizards out there, pretty much world-wide, and that they don't trust us mundanes to know about them and not go ballistic."

"The International Statute of Secrecy was passed in response to real persecution-"

"I _know, _Ray, but it's _been _a couple hundred years, hasn't it? When was the last time I tried to set you on fire? On purpose, I mean?"

"Well-"

"Anyway." Peter turned back to Winston. "Wizards have this secrecy thing, like I said. Most of 'em don't live in close contact with normal people, so if they're going to travel or send messages, they have to do it by magical means. Or by means of small, vicious birds of prey that are _stinking up my kitchen with their lunch-"_

"All right, all right, I promise I won't put any more mice in the microwave."

"Thank you, Egon." He grinned and drew a tally-mark in the air with one finger. "Score one for our side."

Winston glanced over at Egon, who'd put the owl's plate on the windowsill. "How come we haven't had an owl turn up before this, then? I mean, if there's as many wizards as you say-"

"They don't want to talk to us, mostly," said Ray.

"They don't want to talk to _me, _you mean." Egon looked up from the owl's lunch-in-progress. "Ray's isolation from the rest of the 'wizarding community' is an unfortunate side effect of our association. Most of the world's born mana manipulators-"

"English, Egon. We speak English in this firehouse."

"I _am _speaking English, Peter. Considering the variety of ways the human race has found to manipulate universal forces, it pays to be precise. The people who call themselves the 'wizarding world' or 'wizarding community' are born with a certain capacity to affect the physical world through magic, and sometimes the spirit world as well. I haven't isolated the genes involved yet, but-"

"What Egon is saying is that most wizards aren't very fond of mundane science," Ray interjected.

"Mundane?" Winston raised an eyebrow. "The stuff _we _do?"

"All right, poor choice of words." Ray shrugged. "I think you know what I mean, though."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, then. They don't want to talk to us because we spend so much time trying to unify science and magic, basically."

"They consider us a threat," said Egon. "Always have."

"And they figure Egon is more dangerous than I am. At least _I _have the decency to treat magic like magic most of the time, and science like science, is how they see it."

"Uh-huh." Winston leaned back in his chair. "So... if wizards aren't supposed to let people who aren't wizards know that they exist..." He trailed off, looking inquiringly at Peter.

"It's amazing how much people in Scotland will tell you when they're too drunk to hold onto the floor." Peter snickered.

"What does Scotland have to do with it?"

"Uh, hello? Ph. D. in parapsychology? The one hanging next to my Caddyshack poster? They didn't start handing those out in the States until Columbia got a parapsych department. I had to go to the University of Edinburgh for that."

"But you said-"

"He ran into a student from the biggest school of magic in Europe during an end-of-term pub crawl," muttered Egon, covering his face with one hand. "Potter told him everything. I throw up just thinking about it."

Ray cleared his throat loudly and adjusted his glasses. "Can we get back to the subject at hand, guys? This-" He held up the letter. "-says the British Ministry of Magic has a nationwide ghost situation even their Spirit Division can't handle."

"Wait," said Winston. "Ministry of Magic?"

"Told you there were a lot of wizards," Peter said. "Got their own governments and everything. Egon, I'm going to reach into that refrigerator in a minute and finish making my lunch. Please tell me I'm not going to find any more dead rodents."

"Of course not."

"Oh good."

"They're in the freezer."

"Thank you, Egon. That makes me feel _so _much better. Ray? Are they going to pay us?"

"Yep," said Ray, scanning the text of the letter. "Pretty well, too, and cover our room and board while we're there."

"In real money or moon-man money?"

"Probably the latter, but I know where we can change that for pounds sterling."

"All right. England, here we come."

Winston just shook his head. "Good thing I just got my passport renewed, huh?"

"Passport?" Egon laughed. "Where we're going, we don't _need _passports."


	3. SevenFortySeven Comin' Out Of The Sky

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

"Are you quite sure this is how to do it, Hermione?"

The young witch sighed. "Yes, Mr. Weasley," she said patiently. "Quite sure."

Arthur shook his head, scanning the mass of people before him. "I don't know," he said. "It's just- well- it seems so _inelegant _somehow. Can't you reach them on the fellytone?"

"It's 'telephone', and they don't carry any with them."

"They don't? Why on earth not?"

"Probably because American telephones don't work in Europe. Anyway, I don't think Dr. Spengler's letter mentioned a cellular number. May I see it again?"

Arthur set down the cardboard sign reading STANTZ SPENGLER VENKMAN ZEDDEMORE and dug into the pocket of his Muggle jeans. He withdrew a crumpled envelope, which he passed to Hermione before peering hopefully at the crowd once more. "I should've asked them to send a picture," he fretted. "I only met them that once."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione absently as she smoothed out the letter. "There really can't be that many Americans coming into Heathrow on Icelandair."

He sighed, lowering his voice as a knot of teenagers milled past. "I suppose. Still, I _do _wish they'd been able to come by Floo."

"Well, they tried that, didn't they?" Hermione pointed to the letter, ducking the curious look of an elderly German woman. "They _did _get as far as Reykjavik."

Arthur nodded. The letter had arrived by short-eared owl yesterday, saying that the Ghostbusters had run into unexpected Floo troubles and could someone please come to meet them at Heathrow Airport. They'd tapped him for the job, and he'd jumped at the chance; he'd never been to a proper Muggle airport before. Not to mention that, Ghostbusters aside, he desperately wanted a close-up look at some aeroplanes. Lucky thing Hermione had volunteered to come along as a guide! How the Muggles could _ever _run a place this big and complicated without magic to ease things along, he'd never know. Why, the mere _approach _to the place was a nightmare, motorways full of strange signs and all kinds of vehicles whizzing by in every conceivable direction. Worse than a Quidditch riot! And the airport itself- well- _definitely _a lucky thing he had Hermione along; there were far too many things to see, instructions to follow, people to avoid. . .

"No," said Hermione, intruding on his reverie. "No number. I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but I _really _don't think they've got telephones with them."

"Oh," said Arthur, a bit disappointed. He took back the letter, tucking it into his pocket. "Ah- you _are _sure this is where we're supposed to meet them?"

"Pretty sure," said Hermione, indicating the INTERNATIONAL ARRIVALS sign.

A group of Muggles all in blue and yellow pushed past them, yellow pennants protruding from their bags. "Their- aeroplane?- it hasn't been delayed?"

"No, we checked on that already."

"Right, then." Arthur nodded firmly and picked up his sign again. There was music coming from the ceiling, some Muggle tune he didn't recognise. It had a stirring sort of beat to it; he found himself humming along.

Hermione sighed as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "They can't have got very far. If they're coming in from Iceland they've got to-"

His attention was jarred away from her words by the voice. Loud and brash, it cut across the ceiling music and the background murmurs of the surrounding crowd. And it was singing, albeit with more enthusiasm than skill:

_"Toe your line and play their game-"_

"Inside voice, Peter! **Inside** voice!" snapped someone else over the noise of the crowd.

"Sorry, Hermione," Arthur said, "I didn't catch that last?"

"They've got to pass Customs, and then-"

_"Let the anesthetic cover it all-"_

"And that's where?" asked Arthur, wincing and trying to block out the singer with one hand.

_"Till one day they call your name- _Egon, you're not singing!"

Arthur's head swung around immediately.

"I'm not talking to you, Peter, it's not good for me." The speaker was a tall, scowling, dark-haired American. His barber had inflicted a peculiar haircut upon him that added several inches to his height. He wore sensible grey traveling clothes (sensible for Muggles, anyway), and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat on the bridge of his prominent nose. The target of his ire was a shorter man with a thing around his neck that Arthur remembered was some form of Muggle entertainment device meant to be worn over the ears. He was dressed in a fashion similar to the taller man, though his clothes rather looked the worse for wear. His dark brown hair flopped carelessly to one side as he stared up at the other with a look of injured innocence. Exactly the sort of look the twins used to pull when Molly found out about their latest experimental pranks, Arthur thought. Oh, yes, he knew that look- but more importantly, he knew those names. And- yes, there, he'd eat his hat if he didn't recognize the lighter of the two men coming up to join them-

He snatched his sign back up and held it over his head as high as he possibly could. The gesture was a bit excessive, true, but in the midst of a press like this you had to take excessive measures to get noticed. Sure enough, the black man who'd just arrived tapped the taller fellow on the shoulder and pointed.

Arthur smiled. "I do believe we've found them," he murmured to Hermione.

The one with the device around his neck- Peter- separated from the group first, making his way through the crowd. "Mr. . . ." He fished a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. "Weasley? Arthur Weasley?"

"Yes," said Arthur as he lowered the sign. "And you're- don't tell me, I remember seeing you once- ah. . ."

The man grinned and stuck out his right hand. "Pete Venkman," he said. "Pleased to meet you. Hey! Guys! It's our ride!"

"Erm- if by 'ride' you mean-"

But Arthur couldn't finish the sentence; the American was shaking his hand too enthusiastically and passing him off to the others in turn. _"Man _am I glad to see you, I am _so _ready to get out of these duds- okay, this is Winston Zeddemore, and Dr. Ray Stantz-"

"We've met, Peter, remember?" The other man smiled. "Good to see you again, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. You know Ray, then. And Egon-"

"Charmed," said the tall man, who sounded anything but. "Excuse me a minute, Mr. Weasley, but I've got to go get our equipment before the Customs inspectors do anything catastrophically stupid." He left before Arthur could so much as open his mouth.

"You'll have to excuse Dr. Spengler. We don't let him out much." Peter glanced over his shoulder at Egon's receding form. "And he's still kind of steamed about what happened in Iceland."

"Yes, about that-"

Ray made a 'tch' sound and shook his head sadly. "The Floo Network operators at Keflavik took one look at our proton packs and refused to let us even come _near _another one of their fires," he said. "All despite the fact that we'd just come through the Canadian fires and across Kalaallit Nunaat without any trouble, except when Venkman here sneezed at the wrong time and wound up in some fisherman's hut somewhere."

"Yeah, what a knockabout round of pure fun _that _was." Peter snorted. "Anyway. Egon said something about the Floo guys in Iceland knowing him from school, and he's had a bug up his ass about that ever since- oops, sorry." That last was hastily tacked on as Arthur cleared his throat, gesturing towards his companion. "Didn't see you there, miss."

"Quite all right, Dr. Venkman," said Hermione, stepping forward with her chin lifted slightly. "Although if I might ask you something-"

"Um- sure, I guess-"

"Hermione Granger," murmured Arthur by way of introduction.

"Okay. Sure, Miss Granger, what is it?"

She nodded towards the Customs area as Arthur started herding the group along. "Dr. Spengler, there- he isn't by any chance related to _Zedekiah _Spengler, is he?"

"Wasn't that the name of that guy in New England?" asked Winston. "The one with the dragon?"

"Yeah- yeah, I think so. Ray?"

"Yep," said Ray, "that's him. His great-great-great grandfather. He doesn't talk about him, though."

"Why on Earth not?" asked Hermione. "Zedekiah Spengler was one of the most respected wizards in colonial America!"

Ray shook his head. "He doesn't talk about _any _of his magical relatives," he said. "As far as he's concerned, his only worthwhile ancestors are the scientists and scholars. He ignores something like five-eighths of his family tree, really."

Arthur frowned a little. "But- if he's got that many-"

"Hold that thought," said Peter, tapping Arthur on the arm and pointing ahead to where Egon was talking to several uniformed Muggles.

"Look," snapped Egon at the Muggle nearest to him, "I've already told you, they were inspected and cleared at Keflavik. We were told there'd be no need for further inspection once the Icelandic government seal was on them." The sealed items were stacked one on top of the other; there were four, marked with not only the Icelandic government's seal but several yellow-and-black logos Arthur didn't recognise at all.

"That's as may be, sir, but that only applies to taxable goods, and if what you say is true, then Iceland mis-classified your equipment." The Muggle tapped her clip-board with the end of her pen. "These are _very _clearly _not _going to be sold in this country- at least, they'd better not be."

"You're right on that, at least," Egon muttered.

"Good. Unfortunately, Iceland's standards for allowable nuclear devices fail to measure up to ours in several particulars." She nodded to the Muggle next to her, who reached for the first box. Egon all but slapped his hand away. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to allow us to inspect your devices-"

"You're not _qualified _to inspect this stuff!"

Peter whistled softly. "Spengs is really gonna blow his stack," he said. "Been a long time since I've seen him this mad."

"Give him a break," said Ray sympathetically. "It's been a hard day for all of us. Him especially."

"Sir!" the Muggle woman barked. "Please stand _away _from the devices and surrender your papers for them at _once!"_

"All right. That's it." Egon lifted one hand in a sharp, angry wave. "You know what? You don't _need _to see their papers."

_"He didn't just do that, did he?" _whispered Peter to Ray.

The Muggle woman, who had been about to speak, blinked several times. Then, much to Arthur's surprise, she quietly said, "I don't need to see their papers."

"You don't?" asked the man next to her.

"She doesn't?" Hermione asked, almost as surprised.

_"Uh- yeah, he did."_

"You don't need to see _any _of our papers," Egon continued steadily. "You're going to let me through. And so are you," he added, eyes darting to the male Muggle.

The woman nodded. "I don't need to see any of your papers," she said, looking down at her clipboard and scribbling busily. "I'm going to let you through-"

"And so am I," chimed in the man.

"Excellent," said Egon. There was a peculiar gleam in his eye. "Carry on."

"Carry on," the woman said briskly. The other Muggle nodded, smiling, and the two of them walked off.

Egon exhaled, watching them go. _"Bureaucrats," _he muttered. It sounded impossibly vulgar, the way he said it.

"Jedi mind tricks in the middle of Heathrow. Nice one, Egon." Peter shook his head. "I thought you said we were supposed to be _subtle _on this trip?"

"We don't _have _English documentation for the proton packs. I assumed we wouldn't need it because we were supposed to be traveling by Floo." He grabbed one of the sealed packages off the stack.

"You couldn't have just _bribed _the woman?" Peter looked around. "Uh- Arthur, could you grab one of those wheely carts or something? We've got way more luggage here than we can carry, at least until we can get the packs out and put them on."

Hermione, meanwhile, was staring at Egon with a peculiar expression. "You can't have done that," she said.

"It was safer than the alternative," said Egon shortly. "Peter? This one's yours."

"No- I mean you shouldn't have been _able _to do that. I don't believe you've got a wand anywhere on you."

"That's because I don't use one if it can possibly be avoided." He adjusted his glasses and tossed one of the suitcases to Winston. "They're rarely even symbologically consistent, and unpredictably dangerous if damaged. At least if someone breaches the casing on the proton packs I know what's going to happen every time."

"What's going to happen?" asked Arthur, interested despite himself. He'd found a cart as Peter had requested, but there seemed to be something wrong with it; one of its wheels refused to run in the same direction as all the others.

"The resultant explosion takes out roughly half a New York City block and scatters multiple wavelengths of radiation and hazardous high-energy particles, contaminating the area for the next twenty years."

Arthur gulped.

Peter grinned. "And we wear them on our backs every single day of the year. Bet you'll sleep better knowing _that _little fact, huh?" He kicked at the stuck wheel on the cart. "Come on, guys, let's get out of here before Obi-Wan causes any more trouble. Which way do we go from here, Arthur?"

"Uh- Hermione?"

Hermione smiled. "Mr. Weasley's not very familiar with the airport," she said as they started to move. "That's what I'm here for. Come along- the exit's right this way."

< Prev 1. Something Strange In The Neighbourhood2. Ghostbusters, whaddya want?3. SevenFortySeven Comin' Out Of The Sky4. Can I Buy Your Magic Bus?5. Blinded Me With Science6. Englishman In New York, No, Wait Next >

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	4. Can I Buy Your Magic Bus?

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

'Right this way' was a gross over-simplification. Had Arthur tried to navigate Hermione's route alone he would have found himself hopelessly lost in a matter of minutes. Then again, if Arthur were to be strictly honest with himself, he would probably never get to the exit anyway. What looked like a Muggle bookshop caught his eye; he stopped in his tracks. They had all manner of books on display, but the most prominent was a fantastically decorated one entitled The DK Visual Encyclopaedia of Aeroplanes.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Weasley," said Winston.

"But-"

"Airport stores are a ripoff. We'll stop at a WH Smiths if you really want to buy something. It's not worth it at these prices."

"It's not?" asked Arthur.

"Trust me on this. It's not. _Everything_ costs more at the airport."

"Oh. I don't get to visit Muggle shops often-"

Winston laughed, propelling Arthur along after the others. "Don't worry about it. I plan on doing a little souvenir shopping myself before I go home. Got a nephew who's into planes, ships, you name it- I'll get your copy when I get his, if you want. Okay?"

"Really? Thank you."

"Hey, no problem."

Fortunately, the others hadn't got very far, burdened as they were with their own bags and packages. Hermione had stopped outside a door marked _Janitorial Storage - Authorised Personnel Only._ "Mr. Weasley," she said, hand on the doorknob, "something's just occurred to me." She glanced at Peter, who fiddling with a silver-and-blue device labeled WALKMAN.

Arthur winced, looking over the Americans with what he hoped was a neutral eye. "The Bus?" he asked, hoping he was wrong.

"What about the bus?" asked Winston curiously.

"Well-" Arthur hesitated. "It's like this, you see. As I haven't got a Ministry vehicle at the moment, and there's no Floo fire here, we came by the Knight Bus."

All four of the Americans looked at him blankly. "We didn't think we were _that_ late," said Ray.

"Not night, _Knight,"_ said Hermione. "K-n-i-g-h-t."

"Oh."

"It's a wizards-only form of transportation, you see," continued Arthur. "Not because it requires magic to _use-_ but it only stops for wizards."

"How does it tell who's a wizard and who's not?"

Arthur lowered his voice, glancing around quickly to ensure no one was watching. "Most of the time, that's pretty easy. The only people who flag it down do so with their wands."

Ray nodded, patting the pocket of his jacket with a smile. "Got mine right here," he said.

"All right, that's good- it's just-" He nodded to the other three. _"They_ don't. You and I and Hermione could stand on the street and wave our wands until our arms fell off, and the Bus still wouldn't stop as long as the driver thought there were Muggles about."

Egon shook his head, but Ray gave Winston and Peter a long, thoughtful look. "Well, I don't carry any spare wands," he said. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't suppose you've got any spare sets of robes packed in those bags, do you?"

_"Robes?"_ echoed Peter.

"Relax, Pete. No, Mr. Weasley-"

"Arthur, please-"

"All right. No, we don't have any robes with us. But if it's looking like ordinary people that's the trouble-" Ray smiled. "I think we can solve _that_ problem pretty easily."

Five minutes and one trip to the men's room later, Arthur had to admit Ray had been right. There was absolutely no way that he could see any wizard of his acquaintance, even one as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody, mistaking the four Americans for ordinary Muggles. Members of a highly specialised branch of the military, maybe, if Hermione's whispered comment was anything to go by- but definitely not ordinary Muggles. "Merlin's beard," he said, looking them over. "Where did you _get_ those clothes?"

"There's a shop down on Thirty-eighth Street in Manhattan," Peter said, adjusting the khaki jumpsuit's zipper. "Next to Spandex House. Little Chinese guy runs the place, does custom tailoring and alteration."

"Given the amount of ectoplasm we expected to encounter when we started out, it seemed like a good idea to get these made up," Ray added. "Ghostbusting's a messy business, and slime doesn't come out of everyday clothes too well. This was the most stain-resistant fabric I could find that still met our other needs."

"Hey, Art?" called Peter. "You want us wearing the packs too?"

"Not until we're actually outside, I think," Arthur decided. "And stay back from the kerb once we're out there- you don't look like Muggles, exactly, but I really don't know how much this is going to help." They were already starting to attract curious stares. It was making him nervous.

"Works for me. Okay, which way is out?"

"Through here." Arthur glanced back and forth- all right, no one was looking at them _just then._ It would have to do. Swiftly, he rapped the storage room's doorknob with his wand, and it swung open.

"We can't just use the main exit like normal people?"

"Not if we want the Bus to stop, no. Come on, quickly."

They piled out through where the closet ought to have been and onto the street, bags and all. Arthur silently thanked his lucky stars that none of them asked how that particular bit of magic had been arranged. He could no more have explained it than he could Platform 93/4; he'd only found out about it that very morning. Granted, Egon had produced a device with glowing arms that bleeped rapidly as he waved it at the door behind them- but he wasn't asking for an explanation, which was enough for Arthur.

"What do we do now?" asked Ray. Pushed up on his forehead was a set of goggles, the individual eye-pieces protruding from the black box in which they appeared to be rooted. He held up his wand; to Arthur's relief it appeared to be a perfectly traditional length of wood, possibly alder. "You said it'd stop for people with wands- do I need to do something with mine?"

"No, no," said Arthur, stepping to the kerb. "Just this." He flung out his right arm, wand in hand.

**BANG.**

The enormous, violently purple bus crashed to a halt in front of them. Peter yelped, jumping backwards and bumping into Egon, but the others just flinched. Hermione laughed; the door swung open and the familiar voice of Stan Shunpike rang out. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to- oh, it's you, Mr. Weasley." The pimple-faced youth sighed. "You know, yer not s'posed ter be usin' the Bus this close to-"

"Yesyesyes, Stanley, we went over that this morning," Arthur hastily beckoned Ray and Egon over. "We've actually got stranded wizards now, though."

Egon rolled his eyes, but Ray waved and held up his wand.

Stan stared. Behind him the elderly driver, Ernie Prang, leaned over and peered at the two men incredulously. No one said anything. At least, not until Peter poked his head in between Ray and Egon. "Something wrong?"

"'ere," said Stan slowly, "what're you lot supposed ter be? Some kind o'-"

"If you say 'cosmonaut', Dr. Stantz here is gonna turn you into a radish."

"I can't actually do that, Pete."

"Quiet, Ray. Stanley, is it?" He wedged himself forward and grabbed Stan's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Good to meet you, Stan, my man. We're the Ghostbusters. We're here on official government business. Your Ministry of Magic sent an owl the other day, it was _all_ over the papers in America." With his free hand he hastily gestured to the others to start loading onto the bus. "Unfortunately- heh, heh- we ran into a little trouble in Iceland, you know how it is, the whole place is nothing but a James Bond movie waiting to happen-"

"James 'oo?" asked Stan, blinking a little and edging backwards.

"You've never heard of James Bond? My God. You poor, deprived boy. You have _got_ to get out more, you know that? Ignorance of your culture is not considered cool." Peter laughed, nodding to the wide-eyed driver. Behind him Winston scrambled aboard, followed by Hermione. "Anyway, my colleagues and I don't really have an alternative, so Mr. Weasley here was kind enough to arrange for your services. We really, _really_ need to get to- where are we going, Art?"

"The Leaky Cauldron." Arthur dipped into his robe's pockets; the Ministry had at least given him money for this.

"Right, the Leaky Cauldron. So, unless you want the four of us walking through the streets all geared up for battle with your national ghost problem, in _clear_ violation of the International Statute of Secrecy-"

"Uh-"

"-then you'll take the nice man's money, and you'll take us to the Leaky Cauldron and let us off there, and nobody'll say anything else about inappropriate use of the Knight Bus. Okay?"

The teenager gulped, looking to the driver for support. Prang shrugged helplessly.

Peter smiled, clapping Stan on the shoulder. "Wise man. Okay, guys, we're good to go!" He strode into the rear of the otherwise empty bus, leaving Arthur to pay the fare.

By the time Arthur had finished, the Americans had stowed their baggage. Hermione had taken a seat on the end of one of the beds, and was watching Egon at work on his bleeping device. "Hold on tight, everyone," called Arthur-

**BANG**.

The Bus leapt into motion, knocking everyone backwards- save for Hermione and Winston, both of whom had grabbed for support at Arthur's words. As it started on its way and the others righted themselves, Hermione cleared her throat. "Dr. Spengler?" she asked.

Egon swore under his breath and put his device away in a pocket of the jumpsuit. "Yes?"

"If you don't mind my asking. . ." She leaned forward. Despite the fact that they were the only passengers, she spoke in a voice just above a whisper. "You _are_ aware that use of the Imperius Curse on a human is grounds for a life sentence in Azkaban here?"

He took off his glasses, examining them for possible damage. Finding none, he slid them back on. "Of course," he said. "They covered the Unforgivables at the start of my second year at Durmstrang."

"You went to _Durmstrang?"_ exclaimed Arthur.

"Unfortunately, yes. It was my relatives' idea. They said I'd already finished my degree in the mundane school system and that I could pursue graduate work _after_ getting a proper magical education."

"But- your degree- what, at university? Durmstrang's for-"

"I finished my bachelor's in physics before I was twelve years old. I went back to MIT for my doctorate after I finished at Durmstrang."

Arthur shook his head in wonder. Hermione, on the other hand, refused to be diverted. "The Customs inspectors, Dr. Spengler," she reminded him. "What exactly _was_ that?"

Egon smiled. "A little bit of applied parapsychology."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Haven't you ever studied a subject for so long that you decided to experiment with it yourself?"

"Of course. Every summer, when I'm waiting for school to start- though generally I can't experiment until I get back to Hogwarts."

Peter made a 'pssh' noise, pulling his device's listening bits over his ears and flopping back on his bed. Egon nodded. "All right, then. I've been studying parapsychology and its intersection with the physical world since two days after I started at Durmstrang. The wizarding community hasn't got a monopoly on apparent violations of the laws of thermodynamics, despite what they'd like to think. What you saw was the result of nearly twenty years' aggressive scientific study and analysis of suspected and self-described psionic coercives."

Arthur was feeling almost as lost as Stan had just a few moments before, but Hermione seemed to be following the American's words without much trouble. "So. . . that **wasn't** _Imperio,_ then," she said slowly.

"No." Egon smiled, a very brief, dry expression. "It wasn't even magic."

"It wasn't very _reliable,_ either," called Peter. "He's been trying to get the hang of that for as long as I've known him. I think I've seen him actually pull it off maybe five times, tops."

"I told you, if you'd just let me drill that hole-"

"Excuse me, but am I an MD? Do you see a white coat and a stethoscope? Jeez, Egon, you didn't even put down a tarp."

"Go and listen to your Clash tapes, Peter." He turned back to Hermione. "As Dr. Venkman pointed out, I haven't had the kind of success I'd like."

"What would you have done if it hadn't worked just now?"

Egon glanced sidelong at Ray, who was watching the world stream by past the windows. "There are other ways of getting things done."

"Hey, Arthur?" Winston called. "How much longer to wherever it is we're going?"

"Not much, actually," Arthur said. "The trip to the airport this morning didn't even take this long."

"There's a lot of traffic on the road," Ray murmured absently. "At least, it looks that way. We're going too fast to tell."

"Ah, all right," said Arthur. "Still, it shouldn't be much-"

**BANG.**

"-longer," Arthur finished, picking himself up off the floor.

The bus skidded to a halt. "Right! This stop's the Leaky Cauldron, gateway ter Diagon Alley!" called Stan from up front. "Thank you for ridin' the Knight Bus, and enjoy yer stay!"

The Knight Bus pulled away, leaving the six of them on the pavement outside the Cauldron. Hermione started forward confidently, but Arthur put a hand on her shoulder. "I think there's a problem," he murmured, gesturing to the Ghostbusters. Peter was looking back and forth between the two shops on either side, apparently not seeing anything in between; Winston was squinting in the Cauldron's direction and rubbing at his eyes with his fists.

"Oh, dear." Hermione shook her head. "Mr. Zeddemore? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Winston slowly, "but I keep thinking I'm seeing double."

"I knew this would happen." Hermione nodded to the other two Americans. "The Leaky Cauldron's been enchanted so that it can't be found accidentally by Muggles. Most Muggles can't even see it at all."

"What is there to see?" asked Peter, baffled. "You've got a bookstore and a record store, and that's it. I'm not seeing anything that could be a cauldron."

"The Leaky Cauldron's a pub, not an actual cauldron. Mr. Weasley's arranged for you to lodge there temporarily, at least until you've had a chance to talk with the Ministry tomorrow and decide what to do next." "

"Oh." "

"So if we can't really see it," Winston asked, "how do we get in?" "

Hermione smiled. "Well," she said, "since there's not actually a Muggle-repelling Charm on it-" "

"Even if there were, it wouldn't be a problem," Ray interrupted. "We've had to get past anti-mundane barriers before-""

"We have?" asked Peter, blinking. "

"Yes, we have. Remember that one job out by APEC? When the nice men with the Ray-Bans came around to talk to us afterwards, from the Memory Interdiction Board?" Peter nodded; Ray smiled. "There you go. Anyway, if there's no actual standing mundane repulsion field, then it's easy. As long as we maintain physical contact, we can lead you in ourselves. There shouldn't be a problem once they're past the initial Confundus wards, right?" "

Hermione nodded. "I've had to bring my parents through several times, actually," she said. "Although the transition from one side of the spell barrier to the other does tend to give my father a bit of motion sickness. You and Dr. Venkman might want to close your eyes, Mr. Zeddemore." "

Winston shook his head. "Here goes nothing," he murmured, taking hold of Ray's shoulder and closing his eyes. "


	5. Blinded Me With Science

The merpeople off the coast of Scotland were at it again. Julian Konopka, the Ministry's foremost expert on saltwater merfolk, heaved a great sigh and rubbed at his face with both hands. Honestly, the Merchieftainess ought to know better than to allow this sort of rubbish to go on. It might be mischievous youngsters to _her, _but to _him _it was one step closer to those damned laws Umbridge had tried to get through.

From somewhere down the corridor he could hear the sound of quite a lot of people yelling. There was a lot of yelling in the Dangerous Creatures wing these days. Resolutely, he ignored it. He had merpeople to worry about.

According to the note he'd been given, a Muggle ship had come within a hairsbreadth of foundering. The colony's elvers, no longer content with proving their bravery by tapping Muggle ships as close to the moving parts as possible, had come upon a fishing vessel moving slowly enough to harass. Some bright light among them had found a pry bar on the sea bottom, and there'd been rivets poking out of the ship's belly, and-

Dash it all, they were _still _yelling. Different voices this time. Well, whatever had got the people in Beastly Affairs riled up couldn't be _that _serious. There'd be all sorts of alarums if anything dangerous were happening. Probably someone had cheated someone else in the week's Quidditch wagering.

Back to the dispatch. The Muggle ship had started to take on water within minutes of the elvers' play, and had started to sink at an alarming rate. They'd got a good bit of the way towards Glasgow harbour despite the ongoing prying of bits and pieces. Unfortunately, the Muggles had seen the elvers pointing and laughing at them even in the darkness. (Stupid of the elvers to pick a full moon night for a game like that, really.) The sighting might've been excused- strange things happened at sea, after all, especially in the minds of people in distress- but the rescue boat had seen them too. And _that _meant the Office of Misinformation had to send its Obliviators.

The yelling had died away. That was good. But now he could hear_ zap! _noises and suspiciously loud sizzling sounds.

With a sigh, Julian put down the note. The rest of the parchment on his desk was probably more critical, and if they were hurling spells with that kind of abandon, there'd be an alert for sure within minutes. The last thing he wanted was for all his work to be scattered to the eight winds. He capped his ink-bottle, laid his quill to one side, and started filing each of the individual documents away. The paperwork for Misinformation went in the filing cabinet for future reference; the draft copy of his reprimand to Onesimus Taylor for that cock-up at Arbroath belonged in his desk, as it wasn't finished; the report on mackled malaclaw interference in interspecies amity, in the _other _drawer of his desk, for later reading but not immediate response.

The magical window set into his wall flickered, its moorland scene blinking to solid grey in an instant. A woman's brisk, businesslike voice sounded from the ceiling:

"Please remain calm. There has been an Incident in Dangerous Creatures. This is not a drill. We repeat, there has been an Incident in Dangerous Creatures. Please assume your defensive positions and await further instructions. We repeat, this is not a drill. . ."

Julian's stomach sank. They hadn't been able to contain it? He pushed his chair aside and ducked under his desk, wand in hand. After a moment he realised he had no view whatsoever of the office's door, and thus no way of knowing if the Incident was coming his way. Cautiously, he crept forward enough to peep over his desk without putting too much of himself in danger. Nothing to be seen-

No, wait. Something silvery flashed through the shadows at the other end of the corridor, sending parchment and quills flying in its wake- something _big_. It might've almost been a Patronus if it hadn't been yowling like the souls of the damned. Julian flinched instinctively, but at least it hadn't seen him. He found himself wishing there were more reflective objects in his office-

"GET HIM, RAY!"

Julian dropped to the floor, both hands over his head. A moment later he looked up. The sizzling noise was coming from the other end of the corridor- where the shadows were being punctuated by flashes of painfully bright purplish-white light. The howling still filled the air, but now there were gleeful yells of _"__Winged 'im! " _and _"__Nice one, Zed! " _and _"__Sorry! Sorry! Someone get a fire extinguisher!" _to go with it.

All right. Someone was Taking Care of the Problem. Safe in that knowledge, Julian crawled back under his desk and waited, holding on tight to his wand. He could still hear the howling, of course, but it wasn't on _his _side of the desk, right?

"Pete! Ray! Take the left! Egon, down the middle! He's gonna make a break for it!"

Wait a minute. 'Fire Extinguisher'? When _he'd _been at school, that was the name for love potion countercharms. What were they _doing? _

"Nobody move! I need a clear reading!"

It occurred to him that the flashes of light had stopped. There weren't any more zap noises, either. Come to think of it, even the howling was gone. . .

"Over there. Be careful-"

Julian, being careful by nature, detested situations that called for _extra _care. If only his office had more than one door!

"-scan says there's someone still in there-"

It occurred to him that this would be an absolutely splendid moment to Apparate down to the nearest tea-shop; he closed his eyes.

"Mister," said a low, American voice from the door to Julian's office, "this would be a really, _really _bad time to try anything. It's _here._"

"Er?" managed Julian. There was a strange upwelling of cold air all about him, and he could feel the hair prickling along the backs of his arms-

"Don't. Even. Breathe," commanded the other man's voice. Julian nodded, huddling tighter as something slimy started to trickle down the collar of his robes.

_"Now," _whispered someone else, and the room exploded with howling and purple-white light.

* * *

"Well, _that _took longer than it had to."

"I don't know, Winston," said Ray as they rounded a corner. A witch hurrying past with several rolls of parchment under her arm gave him a startled look. "We _are _here to help the Ministry with their ghost problem, right? I'd say a Class Five in the middle of the main Ministry offices counts."

"I know, Ray, but we're _late." _Winston shook his head."We told Arthur we'd be meeting him and the Minister of Magic by nine, and it's nine-twenty."

"He's right, Ray," said Egon. "We're already using questionable tactics on foreign soil. The last thing we need is to unnecessarily antagonize Ms. Bones."

"Guys, relax. We had to make an emergency side trip, that's all. I'm sure she'll understand."

"I hope so, Ray, I really do," Winston said. He nodded towards a pair of figures at the end of the corridor. The shorter of the two had its hands on its hips, and fairly radiated irritation. "You okay back there, Pete? That thing got you in the gut pretty hard."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Alllll better now. Our new friend here's not doing so good, though." Pete flashed a small, strained smile at the beslimed wizard, who whimpered. "Sorry, pal. Better you than me."

Winston shook his head, but before he could say another word, the taller figure started waving enthusiastically. "There they are, Minister!" exclaimed Arthur Weasley. "You see? I told you they'd be along shortly. Just got a bit lost, I imagine?"

"Not exactly," Winston said dryly.

Arthur's beaming smile faltered. Ray stepped forward, whispering. "It's okay, Mr. Weasley. Give us a minute." Then he half-bowed and raised his voice. "Madam Minister, I presume?"

The shorter figure, a woman of iron-grey hair and indeterminate years, nodded curtly. "And you would be-"

Rallying, Arthur stepped forward as well. "Ah- Madam Minister, please, allow me to present the Ghostbusters. This is Dr. Raymond Stantz, and these are Dr. Egon Spengler, Mr.Winston Zeddemore, and Dr. Peter Venkman." He hesitated. "Er- Dr. Venkman-"

Peter was running a hand over his stomach, prodding experimentally at the sorer spots; he looked up.. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Art. Good to meet you, Madam Minister. That's what I'm supposed to call you, right?"

"Minister will do," she said, adjusting her monocle and peering at the wizard next to Peter. "Merlin's teeth and toenails, man, what happened to _you?"_

At that, Peter grinned. "Oh, him? This guy had a little close encounter in his office." He patted Konopka on the back; the man made a small 'wibble' noise, but mostly just stared straight ahead.

One of the Minister's eyebrows shot up as Winston added, "Egon's PKE meter pretty nearly jumped out of his hand as we were walking past the Dangerous Creatures division, so we figured we'd better make a little detour. Didn't expect it to turn into a full-fledged bust."

A puzzled expression crossed Bones' face at the words 'PKE meter'; Egon held the device up. "One of the more important tools of our trade," he said. "I could explain how it works, but I don't think you're particularly interested in the technical details right now."

"You would be correct in that assumption," said Bones. "Although I _do _appreciate your-" She hesitated, looking at Peter, who was trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the slime that'd come off Konopka's shoulder. "-initiative," she decided.

"Thank you."

"Madam Minister." That was Ray. "According to the letter we received inviting us to England, you've got a nationwide ghost and spirit problem of unprecedented proportions. We're honored-"

"Don't let him get started, he'll never shut up."

"Peter!" exclaimed Ray, sounding hurt. "I worked _hard _on this speech!"

"The Minister of Magic doesn't wanna hear a speech, Ray. She wants to know what we're going to do about her little problem, and how we're gonna go about doing it."

"But that's what I was going to _say!"_

"Ray? Suggestion for you." He lowered his voice as he turned to Ray. "The wizard lady's already mad at us. And I don't think it's just because we're late."

"Then why-"

"People don't _like _it when you bring them employees who drip slime all over the carpet."

Ray's eyes slid to Konopka. A thoughtful look crept into his face.

"I suggest we clean the- Ray, you're not listening, are you?"

"Just a minute," said Ray absently. "Egon? Would you mind getting a sample?"

Winston knew that look. He didn't know just what Ray was planning, but oh, he knew that look...

"Already done, Raymond."

"Great." Ray's hand dipped into a pocket of his jumpsuit.

Reflexively, Winston flattened himself against the nearest wall and put an arm up over his face. Egon winced and started backing away immediately. Arthur caught sight of the motion and gestured to Bones to do the same.

Just in time, too. "Scourgify!" shouted Ray.

_SPLAT. _

"Arrgh!"

"Whoops. Sorry, Pete."

"That was my favorite _eye!"_

"Oh, calm down. It's just a little slime- you'll be fine in a minute."

Winston dropped his arm. Konopka was clean, if a little pale. Pete was muttering under his breath, glaring at Ray as he pawed a blob of slime out of his face. "That kind of thing happens all the time in our line of work," Ray was telling the Minister. "He's used to it, don't worry."

Bones smiled. "I can imagine," she said. "Now. I'm told you gentlemen requested that a room be prepared here in the Ministry? Your specifications were a bit vague."

"Intentionally so, ma'am. But if you could just hold that thought-" He waved down a passing wizard and gently steered Konopka towards him. "Would you mind taking this fellow over to your infirmary for us, please? Don't let him get away- we need to interview him later. Thanks. . . okay, where was I?"

"Vagueness," said Arthur helpfully. He'd already thrown open a door behind the Minister, revealing a room completely empty save for the small, glowing stones embedded in the low-hanging ceiling.

"Okay, great. You see, Madam Minister, when we get called in on a really big job like this, it's usually a pretty deep-seated problem. Just trapping the ghosts and removing them from the places they're haunting doesn't fix the situation."

"When you say 'removing'-"

"He means like this, ma'am." Winston held up the still-smoking trap. Bones stared at it blankly; Arthur, on the other hand, had an expression of rapt fascination on his face. "This is one of our traps- we use them to pull in ghosts and hold them until we can get them safely back to our containment unit."

Ray nodded. "Only the containment unit's really a permanent feature of the landscape back home, so we needed an alternative here. At least, until we can get enough information out of studying your spooks to solve your problem once and for all. That's where this room comes in, right, Egon?"

Egon had temporarily jammed his PKE meter under one arm, the better to attach what looked like a rune-covered circuit board to the back. The light from the ceiling wasn't strong enough to make out the details. "I think it'll do, Ray," he said. "All my readings've been within acceptable parameters, and this part of the building's got strong enough walls to stand up to our projected stress levels."

"What do you intend to do to the walls that requires so much strength, Dr. Spengler?" asked the Minister suspiciously. "And how, exactly, is that device even working? Or any of your devices, for that matter."

"I assume you're referring to the phenomenon of 'magical' interference in mundane electronics?" The corners of Egon's mouth twitched in an oddly satisfied expression.

"Precisely."

Winston gave Ray a curious look. The other man shrugged. "Most electronics- and almost anything that works on batteries- well, they don't work very well when there's a lot of magic around."

"Yeah," chimed in Peter. "My watch stopped almost as soon as we came in here."

Winston cast a quick glance down at his wrist. Mickey's arms were still moving just fine. "But because I have to wind mine instead of it running on a battery, it's okay?"

"Yep."

"So why _do _the proton packs work?"

"For the same reason I got chased out of Durmstrang with pitchforks and torches," Egon said, holding up the newly bleeping PKE meter. He aimed it at one of the walls and started moving it slowly up and down. "Ray, you'd better start marking these... Applied arithmantic number theory makes it possible to analyze magic at the quantum level. To a lesser degree, it makes it possible to shield against its interference- and to replicate a few of its effects. Our packs are powered by nuclear accelerators, but they weigh about five pounds more than a properly shielded positron collider of that size needs to, because of the structural elements we've had to build in for mana blocking."

"'Mana' being Egon's term of preference for what the wizarding world refers to as magic," Ray added, looking over at the Minister from where he was busily chalking out diagrams on the wall. "It's a subset of the psychokinetic energy spectrum, just like visible light is a subset of the entire electromagnetic spectrum. We don't normally deal with it much in our line of work, since most spirits are too busy vibrating in frequencies that you could practically track with something from Radio Shack, but why take chances, right?"

"I think I see," said Bones slowly. "Weasley? Are you understanding any of this?"

"I- yes, Minister, actually," Arthur answered. "They've. . . figured out how to make Muggle devices that use magical principles to. . . slough off magic, like a dragon's hide sloughs off most spells."

"That's about the size of it," said Ray.

"And this room- the designs-" Bones waved her hand at the rapidly expanding, hideously complex diagrams Ray was drawing. "Most of that lot looks familiar. Nacknouck's got books full of layouts like that. I assume the Sealing Sigil of Sigismund's going to be involved eventually?"

"That's going to be the last element in the design, actually-"

"What my colleague and I are doing," interrupted Egon, "is preparing this room for its temporary conversion into a spirit storage facility. The New York facility's design is a laser containment grid based on quantum arithmancy. Once the beams are calibrated to the correct frequencies, they set up a subatomic disturbance inside our containment unit that's the equivalent of a wall of pure magic. It replicates the effects of every major spirit-thwarting incantation without actually being magical under EPA rules."

"EPA?" whispered Bones to Arthur.

"One of their Muggle Government agencies," he answered, equally quietly. "One of their divisions reports to the Congress of Magic."

"Ah."

"The Mundane Enchantment and Influence Act's a real bear to get around," Ray said, still drawing. "So it's easier to pay the giant electrical bills every month and make friends in the electricians' union. But here we don't have to do that. A couple good solid layers of Repulsion, Shielding, and Unbreakable Charms on every surface in the room, plus of course your major warding sigils in the places with the best readings on Egon's little friend there- scoot your feet over, will you, Pete? I have to start laying down the access path."

Peter hopped sideways. "So basically, this room's going to be our spooks' home away from home for a while," he said.

"And with the filtration gates Egon and I put together for the meters, we can get as much data as necessary from them without having to undo any of the barrier spells. Which should make chasing down the source of your problem easier," Ray added, looking to the Minister. "Any kind of psychokinetic phenomenon of this kind of magnitude's bound to leave a common imprint-"

She held up one hand. "Spare me the rest of your details, Dr. Stantz," she said with a pained look. "Or give it to me in written form, if you don't mind? I'd just as soon have a text to work with."

"Can do. Egon, do you want me to get the ceiling?"

"No, I can handle it."

"All right."

"So how long do you expect this to last, anyway?" said Arthur, watching with fascination as Egon started scanning the ceiling.

"About fourteen days," answered Ray. " We're just using a light fixative spell on it until we have a clearer picture of just how bad your ghost problem is. After that, we're going to have to start renewing the lines one at a time. We could do up a permanent containment room if the Spirit Division needed it-"

"But we'd have to negotiate _that _contract separately," Peter noted, taking a few more steps back out of Ray's way. "We can talk about that later, though. You guys almost done?"

"Just about, Venkman."

"Great. Winston? Think our disgusting little friend's ready to come out and play nice?"

Winston glanced at the trap; it had long since stopped smoking. "Looks like it to me, Pete."

"Okay, cool. You guys, you're going to want to take a couple of steps back." He indicated the curling path that Ray had drawn, snaking away from the door. "Soon as Dr. Spengler there's done-"

"Which I am," Egon said, tucking his own piece of chalk into a jumpsuit pocket and picking his way across the floor with the greatest of care.

"Great. In that case. . . it's _showtime."_

That was Winston's cue. The twisting, sigil-bordered chalk path led into the center of the room, approaching, but not connecting to, an insanely complicated freestanding circle. He didn't know what the runes spelled out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to, but they were interspersed with lines labeled in recognizably Greek and Hebrew lettering. "Should I be trying to read this?" he asked, glancing over the interlocking curved and angular diagrams that took up most of the circle's center.

"Only if you want to spend the next week nursing the mother of all migraines."

"Thanks, Ray, I think I'll pass. Trap goes in the middle, right?"

"Yep. Try not to smudge any of the lines. The spell's good, but you could still do some damage."

"Wasn't planning on it." He set the trap down and backed away carefully. Frankly, the whole setup was a little unnerving- give him a nice, reliable piece of machinery any day- but he wasn't about to let on. "All right, everyone, stand clear. . ."

The trap flew open in a burst of light and furious, agonized roaring. For a moment the sight was too bright to bear, as a dome of blazing energy sprang into existence around the perimeter of the circle. Then the light parted down the middle, and the Class Five was flung into the room proper.

About the size of a writing-desk, a translucent silver-white in colour, the spirit resembled nothing so much as some horrible, abortive attempt at creating a minotaur from Highland cattle. Its legs churned madly in mid-air, the hoofs and badly-formed hands unable to find purchase on the chalked marks beneath. Then the shaggy spectral head swung around to stare at the humans, mad eyes glaring at them redly. The Five flung itself forward- only to slam with bone-shaking force into a barrier of suddenly-glimmering air.

"Gotcha," Ray half-whispered. Egon just smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

The thing let out another bellow of hate and tried again, with no more success than before. Its next attempt was met with another shimmer of air and a sudden flare of greenish light along the nearest arc of sigils; the horrific noises cut off abruptly, replaced immediately with an almost child-like whimper of pain. It fell back, shaking its head and pawing helplessly at one ear.

"Great stars above!" breathed Bones. "I've never _seen _one so close!"

"You know what this thing is, ma'am?" Winston asked, eyebrows rising.

"I've been briefed," she answered, eyes still on the agonized spectre. "The Spirit Speakers call them 'Tegs'. Welsh, I think. I seem to recall they've inspired Muggle legends about white cattle, they usually haunt mountain lakes- what was this one doing _here?"_

"Trying to wreck the Dangerous Creatures offices, when we found it," Winston answered. "I don't know more than that."

"Neither do we, at the moment," said Egon, finally looking away from the teg's tentative prodding at the be-sigiled walls. "It's going to take us a while to figure it out, I'm afraid. Scans should be easy enough, but we're going to need some time for analysis-"

"And of course we're going to need to capture a few more of your other spooks for comparison," added Ray. "Not to mention talking to your Spirit Division employees and reading through their notes."

Bones nodded. "Of course," she said. "I'll need a preliminary report before authorising anything major, mind you."

"Of course, Madam Minister."

"Uh, Art- I'd stop that if I were you," said Peter.

The others turned as one. Arthur yanked his hand back hastily as the teg lunged at him, huge flat teeth snapping impotently in midair. It hit the barrier in a flare of green energy and fell back harder than before. "Er. Sorry. I just wanted to see if it blocked me, too."

"It won't," said Ray. "The wards in here are designed to keep spirit entities captive and harmless. They don't work very well on humans- you might get slowed down a bit, but that's it. If you put an arm in there and the teg grabbed you, it could pull you in and it wouldn't be any harder than pushing a knife through a block of Jell-o."

"Block of which?"

"Jelly, sorry."

"Ah. Right." Arthur winced.

"Ray? Question," said Winston.

"What?"

"How do I get the trap back?"

"Oh, that's easy. Pick it up."

"Are you nuts? I'm not sticking my hand in there!"

"It's not technically inside the containment field," said Egon. "The circle's protected by an entirely separate set of wards. The presence of anything solid in the center activates it. As soon as the trap opens, the spirit inside's pulled out- much like what happens in our containment unit at home. The wards on the circle make that space temporarily impermeable from either side until the trap's closed. Once that happens, it expels the noncorporeal entity by force and erects the barriers again."

"I'm still not sticking my hand in there." Winston put up both hands, shaking his head. "No way."

"Fine," Ray said with a sigh, and reached for his wand again. This time, everyone ducked. "Accio trap."

The device lifted from the center of the circle and flew through the air; Ray snatched it with his free hand as he put away his wand. Bones' eyes narrowed, but her expression looked satisfied. "I see," she said. "Unless there's something else you need at the moment- no? Very well, gentlemen. It seems the decision to involve the four of you was a wise one after all. I'll have a guard posted at the doors, and Weasley here will escort you up to see Aloyisius Nacknouck, our chief Spirit Speaker. He'll know where you can best be put to use."

"Thank you, Madam Minister," said Ray with a grin. "You won't regret it."

"For all our sakes, Dr. Stantz, I sincerely hope not."


	6. Englishman In New York, No, Wait

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Ghostbusters name, character names, images, and all related references are property of Columbia Pictures.

Author's Note: As of the writing of this chapter, I have not yet read HBP, so any spoilers for that book that might be found in this are purely accidental. There _are_ some spoilers for Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, though, fair warning.

At any rate, without further ado. . .

* * *

Arthur Weasley leaned back on his heels and resisted the urge to pull out his pocket-orrery for the third time in what he rather suspected was less than fifteen minutes. The Spirit Division's offices were woefully plain, offering very little in the way of material to keep visitors busy. Possibly this was because they had precious few visitors to begin with. Which, Arthur conceded, made a certain amount of sense- but it was very little comfort to a man in his position. Nacknouck was taking _forever._

It occurred to him that thecarpet had been laid down in neat little geometric units here, green and purple hexagons interspersed with the occasional bit of blue or red. Perhaps counting the things from one end of the foyer to the other would serve to pass the time? . . . no, he knew that wouldn't help either; he'd already done it twice, anyway. Flooring held no real charm at a time like this.

A dusky-skinned witch with her hair pulled back in a braid that fell quite nearly to her knees hurried by with an armload of scrolls; Arthur stepped forward, about to offer her assistance, but she paid him no notice. By the time he thought to call out a greeting, she'd already vanished into the maze of smaller offices that lay just past Nacknouck's door. Arthur sighed, resting his head and shoulders against the wall again, and reached into his pocket. Maybe if he checked the orrery _now-_

Nacknouck's door opened. "Yo, Art?"

Arthur straightened immediately. "Over here, Dr. Venkman."

"Excellent," said the American. "Listen, the brain trusts are gonna be in there with your boy for a while, and Ray's asked for Winston to hang around too, but they don't really need me right now. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact I was supposed to wait here and escort the four of you to-"

"Change of plans. Egon took one look at your guy's files and pounced like a flea on blood. He won't be coming up for air for a couple hours, and Ray's probably gonna wind up at the containment room with Winston, so that pretty much leaves you and me." Peter shrugged. "Ray says he'll contact me if there's a problem."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Fun being left out in the cold, huh?" A wry smile flashed across Peter's face and vanished. "So. Where are we supposed to be heading?"

"Back to Diagon Alley, actually." Arthur nodded in the general direction of the lifts and started walking. "There's been enough trouble erupting there that the goblins've demanded extra care be taken-"

"Goblins?" Peter's stride was long enough that he'd been just about outpacing Arthur, but at that he stopped and stared. "Nobody mentioned any goblins."

"Er- yes, at Gringott's. The bank?" Arthur blinked a few times at the man's suspicious expression. "Surely someone told you? They _do _run the place, after all."

"Moon-man money," Peter muttered under his breath. "Geez... Nah, it's okay. I'm pretty sure Ray said something about that on the plane from Iceland, but I was ignoring him by then."

"I see." Peter looked as if he was about to start walking again; hesitantly, Arthur put up a hand. "Er- before we go any further-"

"Hm?"

"D'you mind if I ask you something, Dr. Venkman? It, er. . . might be a bit personal, but-"

"Hey, if it doesn't end up with me running around in robes and my skivvies, go ahead."

Suddenly Arthur was immensely glad of his limited grasp of Muggle slang. "I should certainly hope not. No, this is about, ah. . . what you _know."_

"Oh, you mean about you guys? Wizards and stuff?"

"Yes."

Peter smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Funny you should ask, Art. Tell you what- I'll tell you how that happened if you give me the wizard-on-the-street story about what's going on around London, okay?"

"I would've done that anyway!" Arthur protested.

"Yeah? You can owe me something else, then."

They made it to an empty lift just before the doors closed; Arthur prised them open further for Dr. Venkman's pack's sake. "All right, I suppose. Was it Dr. Stantz who told you? He seems the sort to do that for a friend."

"Nope."

"Dr. Spengler, then?"

"Also wrong," said Peter. He was smiling slightly, his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall of the lift.

"Then how-"

"I'll give you a hint- I went to school in Scotland."

Arthur stared at him; Peter's smile broadened visibly. "You can't have- that's impossible!" Arthur exclaimed at last.

"Can't have what?" The man was enjoying this far too much to sound so innocent. "If you guess close enough, I'll give you a gold star."

"You can't have stumbled across Hogwarts!" Arthur blurted. "The Muggle-repelling charms on that school're as thick as on this place- no, thicker!"

At that, Venkman laughed aloud. "Ooo, so close," he said as the lift slid to a halt. "No gold star for you, young man. Although maybe I could see my way clear to giving you a smiley face sticker for at least trying."

"How, then?"

Venkman stretched his arms over his head, popping a few knuckles in the process. "Picture it if you will," he began. "A young man on his first really, really long trip away from his native land, on a solitary journey to the nation of Scotland, sounding out the only accredited university in Europe to offer a graduate course of study in parapsychology. The year is 1978. The time, June. After a long, hard day of wandering the streets of Edinburgh, avoiding Scottish food for all he's worth, our hero finds himself thirsty. He's of the age of majority on both sides of the Atlantic, so what does he do?"

"There's a pub involved, isn't there..."

"Very good! Keep this up

and you might just get a star after all, Arthur." Venkman smiled, ignoring the curious stares of a cluster of witches as they passed through the lobby. "Right you are. Why go back to the hostel when there's entertainment close at hand? My Lonely Planet guide to Scotland assures me that Americans and their spending habits are welcome throughout the city, so I pick out a likely-looking establishment, head on in, and make a serious stab at getting _thoroughly _sozzled."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't explain how you found out-"

"I was getting to that."

"I mean," continued Arthur heedlessly, "if you'd somehow stumbled into a wizarding pub despite the charms, not that I know how you'd manage such a thing-"

"I _said _I was getting to that." Peter gave him a mock-serious glare. "Understand that despite my youthful appearance, I was already wise in the ways of the Booze. I'd been there a good while and met quite a few _very _interesting young ladies when the door burst open and four of the most enthusiastically schnockered kids I'd ever seen in my life came in."

The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck began to prickle.

"How they even had the capacity to get that stinking drunk at that age I don't know- they were younger than me-"

"Eighteen, weren't they," Arthur murmured.

"Bingo! You've just about earned that star back after all, Mr. Weasley. Now, for the grand prize, can you tell me _why _they were in that state and that pub?"

An image of Bill the morning after his NEWTs flashed across Arthur's mind; he sighed. "Because, I suppose, end-of-term exams were over..."

"There we are. See, Art? Was that so hard?" Venkman patted him companionably on the back. "These four guys came storming in and announced exactly that, informed us that they were about to buy everyone in the place a drink, and sat down as if they owned the place. One of them, in fact, sat down right next to me. Said his name was James Potter."

"Oh, _Merlin," _Arthur blurted.

Peter blinked. "You know the guy or something?"

"No, not really, just his son. Do go on, though. I'd quite like to hear how this ends."

Peter nodded. "Okay. Potter's buddy, Sirius, plunks down the cash for a round for the whole bar including yours truly, and from there things pick up speed. Next thing you know Sirius is up on a table singing 'I Still Call Australia Home', the little guy in the group's beating the pants off half the bar at darts, the skinny one's making close personal friends with a mug of beer the size of his head, and Potter's crowing all over me that he's just scored top marks on a bunch of newts. Which, y'know, sounds kind of gross to me, but who am I to pass judgment on another man's lifestyle?"

"Er, but NEWTs aren't-"

Venkman held up a hand. "Who's telling this story, Arthur?"

"Sorry."

"Thank you. Potter goes on about how his teachers say he's got a long and glorious career ahead of him, but he can't tell anyone about it. It's all very hush hush. Unless I'm the right kind of people, nudge nudge wink wink and so on."

Arthur clapped a hand over his face.

"Yeah. I'd had a few by this time, but he completely took the cake. He was so drunk he actually _did _the nudging and the winking, so... I tell him, hey, maybe I'm not English, but I've come across several thousand miles of open ocean to study parapsychology and the supernatural on a full scholarship and that ought to count for something. He gives me this blank look, and I figure I must've mispronounced something, so I tell him it's mind reading and ghosts. Next thing you know..."

"He thought you were talking about studying advanced wizardry," Arthur finished. "Merlin's beard. It _would_ be James, wouldn't it... How on Earth did you manage to keep him from finding out you were actually a Muggle?"

"You have no idea how completely, utterly, _totally _drunk that kid was. I could've told him I was Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan and he'd've bought it. I told him I'd just graduated from Louis Armstrong Magic School in Corona-"

"Where?"

"Part of New York City. Anyway, he bought it."

"Lying to a defenseless drunk man isn't very nice, you know."

"Not being nice runs in my family."

Arthur shook his head wonderingly. "You'd think that sort of thing would draw some notice after the fact."

Peter snorted. "Who from? The three of 'em were too busy drinking and singing and taking people's money to do anything else. James was the only one who talked, and I was the only one who was listening to him. Even the _bartender _was ignoring us. I didn't say anything about any of what I heard until I got back to the States and saw Egon and Ray again. At which point they confirmed the whole thing, and I was in on your dirty little secret."

"I see."

"Good," said Peter, stopping in his tracks. "Because now it's your turn. Tell me what's going on here, Arthur. Not what your bosses are saying, either. I can get that from the guys the next time I see them. I want you to tell me what you're seeing, hearing, _whatever, _as you and the wife and kids go about your everyday lives- you _do _have a wife and kids, don't you?"

"Rather."

"All right, then." He draped an arm about the other man's shoulders. "Walk with me, Arthur. Talk with me."

Arthur nodded. "Well- all right. I suppose first, I should tell you that there's absolutely nothing unusual about hauntings in wizarding society." He paused, waiting for Venkman to challenge him, but the American just nodded.

"Go on."

"Ah- yes... well, most of our really old buildings are haunted to some degree. It's perfectly normal, really. Wizards or witches who die with unfinished business tend to hang about-

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

Venkman stopped again; Arthur was forced to do the same. "Do me a favor, would you?"

"A- all right..."

Arthur's shoulders were released. Venkman stepped around to look him square in the face. "Stop for just a moment," he said. "Think who you're talking to, okay? Think for a second- just a second- about what I do for my living."

"Yes, but-"

Venkman held up both hands. "Now think about the men I work with."

"Er-"

"I've been in this business since 1984," he continued. "I've known Stantz and Spengler since college. You've met both of them. Do you _really _think- honestly, truly now- do you _really _think Dr. Stantz could _possibly _have resisted telling me about wizard ghosts?"

Arthur blinked a few times. "He held out less than a month, didn't he," he muttered.

Peter smiled. "He lasted all of two and a half days."

"How in Merlin's name have you gone this long without being Obliviated?" Arthur burst out.

"Ah, come on, I can't give away _all _my secrets..." Peter patted him on the shoulder and resumed walking. "Maybe some other time. Go back to your story, though, I'm dying to hear this."

Arthur sighed. "Very well. We get ghosts all the time, but about a month and a half ago, we started getting- well, more of them. Just ordinary wizards at first- they died of the usual causes, but they just... stayed. For the flimsiest of reasons, too. I myself spoke to one ghost who said _his _only unfinished business was that he'd rather wanted to see how the Quidditch match he'd been attending would end."

"Quidditch," repeated Peter. "That's that thing with the balls and the brooms and the weird-ass point scoring, right?"

"Nothing weird about it, Dr. Venkman, but I'll explain it to you later. Yes, that's the sport."

"Uh huh." Venkman's expression was dubious. "Was it at least a playoff game?"

"Afraid not."

"So... really big fan?"

"_No,"_ said Arthur. "He hardly had any appreciable interest whatsoever in the outcome. It shouldn't have left him stranded as a ghost. That's the thing."

"Ah, okay, I get the picture." Peter nodded. "So it started with really lame spooks, huh?"

"And it only picked up from there," Arthur confirmed. "Spirits previously considered rare started popping up all over the place. Some of them are so rare you'd ordinarily be lucky to see them once in a lifetime, but now..." He shook his head. "Now it seems as if every kind of spirit being possible's been coming out of hiding. And they're nastier than usual, too. Some of the more intelligent ones you used to be able to reason with, or at least frighten off, but lately they've been standing their ground even in the faces of their traditional enemies."

"That's interesting," Peter said, frowning slightly. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, if you've ever heard of a nogtail-"

"Let's say I haven't, for argument's sake."

Arthur nodded. "Very well; they're a type of demon, they look like long-legged, sickly piglets. They're not dangerous directly, but if one of them takes up residence on a farm and isn't expelled, it blights the whole place horribly. The only thing guaranteed to get rid of nogtails is pure white dogs."

Peter cocked an eyebrow at the man. "What, they like pork?"

"Not that I know of. I don't believe they ever actually _catch _the nogtail. It's just that normally, a nogtail who's chased off a farm by a pure white dog can't ever return."

"And... that's changed, now. They're coming back or something?" Peter asked.

"They're standing their ground, as I said," said Arthur. "They don't even take fright at the dogs' presence. One of them even tried to bite the Ministry dog that'd been sent to run it off- and it was still the size of a piglet."

"And... you know about this _how? _I thought you were some kind of liaison officer."

"Not exactly. I work in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, though, and that means getting out and about to patch matters up when someone thinks it's funny to hex the dickens out of somebody's tools. I happened to be on the Hoggett farm trying to undo a particularly savage Hurling Hex that'd been cast on their ... thing... big green whatsit, small wheels in the front, big in the back-"

"Tractor, Arthur?" Peter asked, eyebrows arching.

"Yes! Their tractor, that was it. Thank you." Arthur smiled. "I was just about done with that when one of their piglets let out this amazing human-sounding yell. Next thing I know the little beast's bolted halfway across the barnyard, _chasing _this poor little white bloodhound pup..."

Peter started to ask something further, but fell silent as they rounded a corner into familiar territory: a record shop on one side, a bookshop on the other.

It was Arthur's turn to smile and put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Close your eyes, Dr. Venkman."

"You gotta be kidding me. I thought this Diagon Alley was an actual _alley."_

"Oh, it is," Arthur assured him. "It's just on the other side of the pub. Right through the back wall."

"More wall walking. I _hate _this stuff," the American muttered, but obeyed. "Poke me when we're all the way through, okay? That schtick with the wall is really disturbing. I don't want to see it happen twice."

Arthur laughed at that, but led Peter through nonetheless. "Honestly," he said as the door to the Leaky Cauldron closed behind them, "it really _is _a shopfront. We're in the bar now-"

"I don't care. Get me into this Diagon Alley if you want me to open my eyes again."

"Very well. Do mind your step." He led the American through the rest of the bar, ignoring curious looks and the occasional sniggering wizard in the shadows. "One would've thought you'd be used to this sort of thing by now."

"Believe it or not, Arthur-" Peter got pulled aside a hair too late to avoid an outflung elbow. "Oof!- I don't get that many calls from wizards. Me and the guys are pretty strictly confined to working the mundane side of the line."

Arthur nodded. "Speaking of lines, we're just about at the back now."

"Oh, goody." But he fell quiet, and stayed that way until the brick wall closed itself behind them.

Arthur dropped his hand and took a long breath, inhaling the familiar smells of the Alley. The apothecary nearby, the cauldron-cleaning solution from the shop across the way, even the reek of Eeylops Owl Emporium- oh, yes, he knew those smells well. "Smell that?" he asked Dr. Venkman, who was staring at the throngs of wizards and witches. "That, my American friend, is the smell of _magic."_

Peter sniffed. "Smells like Chinatown," he murmured.

"Well, we _do _get a fair number of our herbs and potion ingredients from China," said Arthur with some surprise. "Excellent nose you've got there."

"No biggie. I live three blocks from the place, I should know what it smells like." He sidestepped a witch as she bustled past, her arms full of poorly-wrapped packages. "So where's this Gringotts?"

Arthur turned, ready to point. "Oh, it's just over-"

He froze.

"Never mind," said Peter, who was looking in the same direction. "I think I can find it on my own. I'm just gonna follow the bloodcurdling screams of terror, okay?"

It was as if a vast slow-moving spring somewhere below the earth had burst its cap, pushing upwards with inexorable force, horrible and overwhelming like some nightmarish wall of treacle. That was the impression Arthur got as the gathered wizarding folk turned and surged towards him, fleeing the vicinity of the bank with what little speed they could muster in so small a space. He might have been able to dodge them had they been running, but as the street narrowed around them there was no space for lengthy strides, and momentum slowed to an overwhelming, massive crawl. It was all that Arthur could do to keep his footing in the face of people trying to flee.

The American plunged forward, fighting valiantly upstream against the throngs. "Dr. Venkman! Wait!" Arthur cried, but too late- Peter had vanished into the crowd. Arthur swore under his breath and began fighting his own way through, elbows first. "Excuse me- pardon me, please- _will _you stand aside at _once _madam- Ministry business-"

"OKAY! YOU!" he heard over the terrified cries around him.

In front of the magical instruments shop, Arthur found an overturned display basket with a good sturdy bottom that had somehow missed being trampled. He upended it, leaned it against the wall, and clambered up to see if he could catch sight of Dr. Venkman. And he did.

The American was standing in the midst of a tiny bubble of free space created largely by his own bristling rage. He had hold of a Gringotts goblin- literally; he'd grabbed the lapels of its scarlet and gold uniform and yanked it off its feet, holding it at his own eye level. "I- want- some- ANSWERS!" he thundered, giving the goblin a good solid shake. "What's going on?"

It was perhaps a measure of the situation that the goblin had to swallow twice before giving its answer. "There's a- the vaults- it just-"

"What?" Peter roared. "_What _just?"

"Chimera in the bank!" the goblin cried. From the direction of the bank there came an ear-splitting roar. As Peter's head jerked up, the goblin raised its arms over its head and slithered out of its uniform coat, scrabbling away for all it was worth.

A _chimera! _Arthur stood stunned for a moment. But those were _obscenely _rare! Dangerous as anything- didn't the textbooks say there'd only ever been _one _killed by a wizard? And what was one doing in Britain? They were Greek-

"HEY! Art!" Someone grabbed at his sleeve; Arthur yelped. "Relax! It's just me."

Arthur clutched at his chest. "You gave me a turn there, Dr. Venkman-"

"Yeahyeahyeahwhatever what's a chimera and why's it look like the Blob showed up in the movie theater?" said Peter. The bubble of space around him had expanded to include them both.

"Only the most dangerous magical beast I can think of that's ever actually set foot in Britain! They're horrible- they eat wizards like a Crup eats rubbish!" Arthur answered as people streamed past.. "It's not a ghost- will your machine _do _anything to it?"

"Oh, yeah, I think so," Peter said grimly. "Switch me on, will ya, Art? It's the big red one towards the bottom."

Arthur gulped, nodded, and poked the switch Peter had indicated.

_Whrrrrrmmm..._

The crowds fell completely away from them at the sound, though people were still struggling to reach the end of the alley from the stores further along. Peter smiled, a grim, sly thing, and reached over his shoulder to yank part of the pack free. It was as long as his arm, blocky, and still wired into the pack proper at one end. The rounded tip gleamed. _If Muggles could make a wand of their own, _Arthur thought, _it'd look like that._

"Everybody _MOVE!" _Peter yelled. His thumb twitched. A stream of blazing purple-white fire lanced through the air from the thing's tip, searing Arthur's eyes momentarily blind. When the spots faded from his vision, Peter was stalking unimpeded through the yards-wide path the crowds now gave him.

_He's going to get killed! _Arthur thought- and realized he was running after the man. _**I'm** going to get killed! _"Dr. Venkman, you don't understand- there's only one wizard on record who's ever managed to kill one of these things! And he had a flying horse! It's got flaming breath, _huge _fangs-"

"And _I've _got a great big continuous-fire beam weapon with a range of a good hundred yards or more," Peter said, still walking. "Your point?"

"... all right, that might even the odds a bit," Arthur conceded, "but it's _still _as bad as a dragon-"

"I've dealt with dragons before," said Peter with an odd little smile. He stopped, some yards directly in front of the bank, and cupped one hand around his mouth. "HEY! You in there! I've had about enough of this mess! Get your scaly butt out here so I can kick it, okay?"

Dead silence hung in the air. Even the fleeing crowds froze where they stood.

"Did you hear what I said?"

A gout of blue-hot flame blazed out from the main doors, straight in Peter's direction. The American stumbled backwards a few paces, windmilling his arms furiously to avoid falling over. "Whoa..."

And with a dreadful roar, the chimera burst into the open air.

Even for a magical creature, the beast looked dangerous. Its head was that of a young lion, the mane barely sprouted but the fangs shining and deadly. Its tail, the long, scaly, spiked tail of some forgotten dragon breed, whipped viciously in the air behind it. Sparks trailed from its diamond-hard goat's hooves as it clattered to a stop on the pavement. Smoke puffed from its nostrils as it looked this way and that, panting; there was intelligence in its eyes, the low, wily cunning of all ancient beasts overlaid with enough wit to assess the crowds, and find them all lacking as foes.

Its eyes passed over Arthur, and he flinched. A lick of flame flickered from the lion's mouth- laughter, perhaps- and it turned away, saving its attention for the one who still stood before it: Dr. Venkman. He felt its gaze too, or so it seemed to Arthur, who saw the man shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, that's right," Venkman said, "I'm talking to _you. _You and me. One on one. Arthur, if you have any way of contacting the rest of the guys, _do it right now."_

"I wish I could, Doctor- _aaah!"_

The chimera had lifted its head and almost lazily blown a jet of blue-tinged flame in Dr. Venkman's direction, but the American wasn't there. "Dr. Venkman?" he called warily.

"Over here," came the man's voice, from behind a half-wrecked rubbish bin. Arthur whistled.

"You do know how to move, don't you?"

"Yeah, it's a little known fact-" Peter peeked out from his shelter, eyeing the chimera as it growled. "-that I have a third doctorate-" It was snarling at something on the Gringotts steps: one last straggling goblin. "-in _running away from certain death-" _

The chimera's ears slanted back; the goblin screamed, flinging an arm up in front of its face. Its other hand jerked up, frantically pointing in that manner that can only ever mean 'look somewhere else!'.

Unfortunately, the chimera decided 'somewhere else' was somewhere just behind Arthur.

Venkman suddenly lunged towards Arthur, tumbling wildly as the chimera let out another furious roar. "And a _lot _of continuing ed credits!"

The chimera reared up on its hind legs and pawed the air, cloven hooves flashing. Paving-stones shattered in all directions when they came down. It gathered itself again, leapt for Arthur with a mighty roar- and got thrown backwards by a blast from Dr. Venkman's proton pack. The stench of singed goat fur filled the air. "Buzz off!" Peter snarled.

What had been a roar took on the quality of a scream now as the maddened chimera sprayed the street with flame. "ART!" Peter yelled, rolling out of the way. "DO SOMETHING!"

"I can't!" Arthur cried. The chimera shot a foul look his way. Its tail lashed out behind, wrapping around one of the pillars in front of Gringotts and almost casually yanking a chunk of the marble column loose.

"Why _not?" _Peter staggered to his feet and flattened himself against a shop-window. The chimera advanced, tail still wrapped around the marble.

"They're distant kin to dragons! Spells bounce right off their- AAAAAH!" Arthur dove for it, too late to save the bottom of his robes from the flames.

"Then how the hell did that one guy kill one in the _first _place?"

"Can't hear you! Putting the fire out!" Arthur flailed in his robes for his wand. He felt, rather than heard, the terrible sound of the length of hawthorn rolling away over the stones. "Oh, _no..."_

"That is _not good!" _The street lit up with proton fire, and then with orange flame. "I did not want to _hear _'oh no!"

Paving-stone fragments flew in all directions. Arthur grabbed an unburnt part of his robes and moved to smother the edges. Ah, there, his wand was just out of reach.

"'Oh no' is a _really bad thing to he- _oh, _noooooo..."_

Arthur looked up just in time to see the chimera hurl the chunk of marble straight at Dr. Venkman's head. He dove for his wand, knowing he would never reach it in time.

There was a blaze of searing light, a sudden sound of shattering- and then, very briefly, it rained chunks of marble and bits of dust.

Arthur's fingers closed about his wand. He rolled upright, blinking.

The chimera was still there; so was Dr. Venkman, who was entirely covered in fine white dust. It did very little for his appearance. Frankly, he looked rather as if he wanted to tear the creature's lungs out with his teeth. "Nice try, scaly," he growled. "But I'm _not _that easy to kill. You wanna try that again?"

Silently, Arthur readied his wand.

It hurled itself at Peter, fangs flashing.

"_Leviosa!" _Arthur called out- and the chimera's jaws snapped shut on nothing as its target suddenly found himself floating a good five feet above the ground.

"PUT ME DOWN!" yelled Peter, legs flailing frantically. The chimera wheeled about, snapping at his feet. Flames licked from its jaws.

Arthur hissed and swiftly pointed his wand towards a spot a safe distance away, letting Peter down. "Sorry- sorry-"

The fire blazed forth again. For a moment Arthur thought the beast had found another victim, a girl perhaps- no, it was only Dr. Venkman, bolting for cover and finding none. "Arthur! _How are we supposed to stop this thing?"_

"I don't know! I think someone's called the Ministry! I _hope _they have!"

A word too sibilant for Arthur to hear over the crackling of the chimera's flames escaped Peter. He turned to face the beast again. It roared, that dreadful sound shaking the very buildings around them-

"All right! That's it! You're gonna be a frickin' _motorcycle jacket _by the time I'm through with you- _full stream, _buddy!"

The flare of purple-white energy blazed even more brightly than the one that had destroyed the chunk of pillar. Briefly, the chimera's roar became an anguished scream. Then- was it only his imagination? Did Arthur hear the thing drawing in a vast breath? Perhaps-

Arthur wasn't about to take the chance. _"Accio- _um-_ Accio muggle!"_

Somewhat to his shock- _Accio _had never worked on any of his children- Peter abruptly came flying towards him as if yanked by a giant hand. Just in time, too, as the chimera let loose a great blast of blue-hot flame. Hastily, Arthur released the spell, and the other man tumbled to a stop just in front of him. "Are you all right?" Arthur asked.

Grimacing, Peter pushed himself to his hands and knees. "Yeah- little winded- what _was _that?"

"Summoning Charm. I'm sorry, there wasn't time-"

"Meh. Am I on fire?"

"Er- no?"

"Then 'salright." Peter glanced over his shoulder towards the chimera, which was pacing angrily back and forth. On every fifth or sixth beat, it paused and changed direction. "Seriously, Art, is there even a way to get this thing dead? A full stream proton blast is supposed to be able to reduce a living person to their component atoms. I'm guessing that was the dragon magical interference thing again?"

"I couldn't tell you, I really couldn't," Arthur said apologetically. "Did you happen to hit it while it was roaring?"

"At one point, yeah- why?"

"That's it, then." Arthur's eyes flickered to the beast as well; it had dropped to a crouch, and was pawing at its nose with one forehoof. He lowered his voice. "From what I recall, the one wizard who ever killed one conjured up about a gallon of molten lead, right inside its mouth- blocked the flame or some such, I forget."

"I kinda think that much boiling lead would do a little bit of damage on its own!"

"Possibly." Arthur shook his head. "Couldn't say. He fell off his winged horse and died just after. Anyway, I think the gullet's a chimera's only vulnerable spot."

"Great, just great." Peter forced himself upright. "Can you do the lead trick from here?"

"Sorry. I can't conjure anywhere I can't actually _see."_

Peter wiped the dust from his face with a sigh. "And you can't get a clear shot at it without a flying horse?"

"My aim's not that good, Dr. Venkman. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I think I got it in the mouth before. I can do that again if you just keep-"

"Look out!" Arthur cried. He shoved the other man down as the chimera's flame soared over both their heads. The beast's hooves shattered the paving stones a moment later with the force of its landing.

Peter rolled away swearing and came to his feet. "What the _hell? _How did-"

Before Arthur could say anything, before he could even bring his wand up, the creature pivoted. Swifter than a striking Runespoor, its tail flashed around. It smashed into the American's side with such terrific force that Peter was knocked off his feet and flung into the front wall of Gringotts itself, where he slid down and landed in a limp, rag-doll heap.

There was no time to spare for spells or screaming. With a _crack, _Arthur Apparated across the street. "Peter! Peter, can you hear me?"

A weak little sound came from the huddled form. It might have been profanity.

Arthur spared a glance for the street; the chimera was stalking towards them, moving with the slow, arrogant grace of assured victory. "We have to get you out of here- here, let me get your arm around-"

Peter screamed, a wordless, instinctive sound of pure pain. Arthur nearly jumped away. Even the chimera paused. "Peter! What-"

"Something's broken," the American gasped. "Rib- collarbone- something-"

The chimera started moving again, its movements even more exaggeratedly casual than before.

"Art. You gotta do something for me."

Arthur stared at the man. "Please don't say it involves your next of kin," he said.

Was that a smile through the clouds of pain? "Hell no," Peter managed, sucking in a breath. "Just ribs. I think- ow- two or three. The pack- too heavy-"

"Oh! Oh." With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, the proton pack lay on the pavement. "Is that better?"

"Much." Peter's breath hissed again. "Now put it on."

"_What?"_

Peter's eyes glittered as he stared up at Arthur. "I want that thing _dead, _Art. _Really _dead. I came here for ghosts, not frickin' fire breathing monsters- _get rid of it."_

Arthur turned, looking up and down the length of the street, but there was no sign of any Ministry personnel arriving. Certainly not anyone from Dangerous Creatures. "Er..."

"What?"

"Is it very hard to use?"

Peter shook his head. "Use both hands, open the cover, flip the switch, push the button, off you go, kill the monster for Uncle Peter, would you, Art?"

"_Right," _said Arthur grimly, pulling the proton pack on. He staggered a little under the weight. "Er, you're quite sure-"

"_Go, _willya?"

Arthur nodded once and ran out into the street. The lion's head swivelled to face him. He had barely enough time to look down at the thing in his hands before it flamed at him.

_Crack! _went the air as he Apparated just out of range. Finding something that looked like a cover, he pushed it out of the way. He fumbled, almost dropping the thrower- oh dear sweet Paracelsus _there were three different switches_-

It crouched, turning his way and raising its tail into the air. Arthur swallowed. "WHICH SWITCH, DR. VENKMAN?" he yelled.

It roared. Arthur couldn't hear the other man over that dreadful sound.

Still roaring, it leapt-

He flicked all three of the switches and jammed his thumb down on the button with all his might.

A burst of writhing, coruscating energy shot from the thrower's end straight into the monstrous creature's mouth, and kept right on going. It was all Arthur could do to hold the suddenly-bucking thrower steady. The chimera's roar had become an agonized wail, the creature paralyzed, transfixed by the terrible stream. A sharp, weird tang filled the air, as chemical as a badly-made potion-

"ART! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF NOW!"

Arthur lifted his thumb from the button. Instantly, the stream stopped. The chimera stared at him; it coughed twice, emitting a thin, unwholesome wisp of smoke, and slumped to the ground.

Funny, that terrible keening noise was still there... "Dr. Venkman?" he called cautiously, turning as far towards Gringotts as he dared- he didn't like the thought of turning his back on a chimera, even one that was clearly unconscious. "Do you hear the noise, too?"

"YES!"

"What, um-"

Peter's face, ashen with pain and possibly shock, appeared around the side of one of the remaining pillars. "You flipped the green switch in the middle, didn't you?"

"I flipped them all! Was I not supposed to?"

"No, not really- all three's the overload sequence! That thing's gonna explode!"

Arthur paled. "Oh, _bugger," _he said, and wriggled out of the harness as fast as he could. _"Evanesco!"_

The pack blinked out of existence. Somewhere quite far away, he thought, he could hear an explosion.

"'s gone now?" asked Peter, eyes closed, as Arthur hurried over to his side.

"Yes- yes, quite," Arthur reassured him. "The pack, anyway- an undirected _Evanesco _doesn't make things not exist, it just puts them 'somewhere else'. I've never found out where, but-"

"I meant the monster." Peter grimaced, running one hand along his collarbone.

"If it's not dead," Arthur said, "it's near enough as will make no difference."

Peter nodded. "Okay. 's good. Thanks, Art. I owe you one." He swallowed and dropped his hand. "Though... one favor? Please?"

"Anything, Dr. Venkman."

Peter opened his eyes. "Don't you ever, _ever _pull that 'muggle' crud around me again, okay?" he said, and passed out.


End file.
